


Little Steps

by testosterone_tea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, DD/lg relationship, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Genderfluid Sherlock, No Sex, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Romantic Fluff, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, bee cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testosterone_tea/pseuds/testosterone_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is already in a relationship with John, but they still haven't told him everything about them yet. John has proven he can be accepting, but Sherlock fears there might be a limit even John might not understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Attention-seeker

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first half of my fic for [labyrinthinearchaeology](http://labyrinthinearchaeology.tumblr.com/), who was the first place winner for my Johnlock fanfiction giveaway! The second half will be posted soon!
> 
> Sorry this took so long, but I made sure that I researched the prompt thoroughly before writing it. I hope that I got the details for this prompt correct, because I didn't know much about Littles, Daddies, or Age Play before my research. I hope you enjoy the fic!
> 
> Note: Sherlock is genderfluid in this fic. Sherlock uses they/their/them pronouns in this fic, so if you find any instances where I've accidentally called them "he/him," please let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> **This story has Sherlock taking on the role of a Little, or a person who has childlike characteristics as an inherent part of their personality. There is no underage contact happening in this story and both John and Sherlock are over the age of 18. However, as there is a possibility that this content could be triggering or upsetting to those who have experienced childhood abuse, here is your warning.**
> 
>  
> 
> **I am not tagging this pedophilia, because Age Play and DD/lg relationships do not fall under that category.**

Sherlock Holmes looked in the mirror and very carefully and precisely drew the second wing in liquid eyeliner, finishing off with a very slight upward flick of their wrist. They hadn't tried to do this with liquid eyeliner before, but it looked like it was perfectly even. Excellent.

Sherlock had been gaining confidence in their make-up abilities ever since they'd started a relationship with John. Before John had realized about Sherlock's alternative gender identity, Sherlock had tried to hide the fact that sometimes, they dressed in women's clothes.

Some of it was easy enough. They would wear women's slacks or a woman's blouse underneath their suit jacket. Items that were similar enough to men's clothing to pass muster. They also took great delight in wearing women's knickers to crime scenes, the cuter the better. No one looked closely enough to realize what they were doing, and it was a bit thrilling to get away with it.

But it had been a frustrating thing to hide once John had moved in. They had to find a place to hide their make-up and practice in secret. Sherlock had a secret stash where they used to hide cocaine from Mycroft, but now served as a place to store their supply of feminine beauty products.

Mycroft knew, of course, but never said anything.

Sherlock used to only get their makeup supplies out if John was out of town on business, or was staying with a girlfriend overnight. They hardly ever got the time to try anything really elaborate.

John peeked his head in the door. "Hey, love, I'm popping out to the store, anything you want?"

"Four different brands of toothpaste," Sherlock replied, admiring their defined eyebrows in the mirror.

"Fine, but you need to clean out the top shelf of the fridge," John said. "The liver is starting to smell a bit off."

"Yes, John," Sherlock said, not really paying attention.

John smiled at them in the mirror and left.

Of course, living with someone made it harder to hide. Starting a relationship with John had made it even more difficult, and Sherlock had begun to question their choice to keep it a secret. They hadn't liked hiding it after they started a relationship, and so, one day, they had allowed John to catch them.

They had expected it not to go well, but John had accepted their identity without any fuss, besides making Sherlock explain the difference between their gender identity and gender expression. Sherlock had been very adamant that they were, in fact, a non-binary gendered person and not a cross-dresser. Thankfully, John had understood what they meant.

Being comfortable in the way they expressed their gender identity was still difficult sometimes.

Such as now. It was the height of summer, and Sherlock had bought a new white skirt with a floral design. They were delighted with the way it swished around their legs, and had practiced walking in it in their room in front of the mirror. However, it was also damnably hot, which meant that wearing a bra and breast inserts became sweaty and uncomfortable after a short time.

Gender dysphoria sometimes made Sherlock uncomfortable in public, but it was getting better over time. Sherlock didn't mind nearly as much when people gave them strange looks or rude stares. 

Sherlock's solution to hating wearing breast inserts on hot days was to simply wear a men's sleeveless shirt and not bothering trying to pretend that they had breasts. This meant that quite a lot of the time, they were wearing an odd combination of men's and women's clothes, but they had ceased to care about public perception of these things.

Taking out some lip chap, they applied that liberally, and then added some lip tint for added pinkness. They surveyed themself in the mirror, and nodded to their own reflection. It didn't matter that they didn't exactly fit in. It never had. This was just another way in which Sherlock was different from everyone else.

Calculating that John still wouldn't be done the shopping, they decided to go and find him. Just a short trip out wouldn't do any harm. 

They did get some odd looks from passerbys, but Sherlock had perfected their don't-bother-me look, and most often, no one did. They knew that their playing around with gender expression bothered some people, but it wasn't even remotely their problem.

Tesco wasn't far from Baker street, and rather busy at this time of day. Sherlock thought back to what John had said he was picking up from the grocery store earlier, but couldn't remember. They must have deleted it. Sherlock walked down one of the aisles, determined to find John right up until the moment that they saw the bee cup.

It was just a plastic cup with a lid and a straw with a bee on the side of it.

It was perfect. Sherlock fell in love with it immediately. They had to have it.

They slowly reached out for it and carefully put their hand around it, picking it up off the shelf to examine it more closely. Sherlock couldn't say why exactly, but the cup spoke to the very heart of them, in a way that wasn't at all rational.

They were so enthralled with the bee cup that they didn't notice that rather than finding John, John had instead found them.

"Hello, what have we got here?" John asked.

Sherlock jumped and blinked at John in surprise, caught in the act. A little too quickly, they put the bee cup back in its place on the shelf and snapped their arms back to their sides. They grasped their hands behind their back in order to prevent reaching out and grabbing the cup again. Sherlock couldn't help the look of longing they sent towards the cup before turning back to John.

John, having watched this play out, picked the same cup up off the shelf and looked at it.

"You like bees, don't you," he said, turning the cup over to look at the price on the bottom.

Sherlock did like bees. They also liked the cup, even though it was clearly made for a child. Especially because it was made for a child.

There was one other thing that Sherlock hadn't yet shared with John.

John nodded and put the cup in the basket along with everything else, and Sherlock's heart leapt. They felt their cheeks warm, and John smiled.

"Come on, love, let's go home."

Sherlock followed, still cautious, trailing behind like a duckling. John put their groceries through one of the self checkouts, miraculously not getting into an argument with the machine. Sherlock followed the rest of the way back to Baker street. As soon as John put the groceries on the counter and began putting them away, Sherlock dug through the bag and found the bee cup.

"Hey, don't forget to wash it out before you use it!" John reminded them. "It's not clean, you might get germs."

Sherlock almost didn't listen, but John gave them a stern look, and so Sherlock did as they were told, grumbling all the while. Even so, their heart beat a little faster, and they looked back to watch John a few times. John finished putting the groceries away as Sherlock dried off the cup.

"If I put lemonade in the bee cup, will you drink it?" John asked.

"Yeth," Sherlock said, and then froze in horror. 

They had lisped. Oh no, had John noticed that? It had been terribly noticeable, at least to Sherlock, but John hardly ever noticed anything. Perhaps he hadn't.

It was particularly embarrassing because it meant that Sherlock was starting to regress, and they hadn't ever done that in John's presence before.

Because Sherlock had another secret, one that was even more difficult to tell John than telling him about their gender identity. And that was that sometimes, Sherlock felt like they were more childlike and regressed back into a more childlike state of being. Sherlock was what some people called a "little."

It wasn't easy to describe for Sherlock, especially not to John, their romantic partner. Being a little wasn't something that they associated with sexual desire. It was a state of being, a part of their innate self, like their gender identity in a way. They couldn't separate it from themself at all.

Sometimes, things like the bee cup or John acting as if he were a caretaker made Sherlock begin to regress back to that childlike state.

Sherlock the adult made sure to enunciate clearly and precisely. Sherlock the little had a lisp.

John poked around in the freezer until he found a can of frozen lemonade. He got a pitcher out of one of the top cupboards and handed it to Sherlock.

"Fill that up, will you, love?" he said. 

Sherlock dutifully did as they were told, and when John had finished opening up the can, he dumped the frozen slush into the pitcher and got out a wooden spoon. He handed that to Sherlock as well, and Sherlock stirred the mixture together, watching as the clump of frozen slush slowly dissolved into the water.

John filled their cup for them and fixed the top back on.

"Now, what do we say, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Please?" Sherlock said, trying very hard not to let their 'l' turn into a 'w.'

"That's right," John said, and handed them their lemonade.

Sherlock almost bounded off to their seat in the living room, but John stopped them. He gave them a pointed look, and Sherlock just knew he was thinking 'Manners!' at them.

"Thank you, John," they mumbled, and hurriedly left the kitchen.

"Good lass," John said.

Sherlock flushed right down to their collar. John usually called them 'lad' as an endearment, even though it was gendered male, so it took them by surprise whenever John called them 'lass' instead. John chuckled behind them at their red face, and Sherlock glared and went to their chair to pout.

John went to his own chair and settled in to write another blog article. Sherlock wondered if he had noticed their regression or not. He hadn't seemed to, at least not consciously. Their deductive power wasn't diminished at all, because Sherlock had always been brilliant. Still, they had never been good with emotional responses.

They pondered this as they watched John type, slowly, with two fingers, tongue trapped between his lips.

There was only one solution. They had to make an experiment.

The real question was, would John notice if more of Sherlock's childish tendencies shone through more strongly if they started letting their little side out? Sherlock did tend to act somewhat childish, even when they were acting like an adult, so perhaps he wouldn't notice.

There was only one way to find out.

***

Sherlock started with introducing more childish clothing to their ensemble.

They picked them out by themself, even though normally, they would prefer that someone else did for them. This was a test, and if John passed, then Sherlock could get him to buy them lots of stuff. Sherlock perused the children's hair accessories section with care and found a packet of barrettes with a tiny bumblebee. Perfect for their purpose, which was to see if John would notice. The bee motif helped somewhat, because it would make a pattern for John to notice, but also because Sherlock really loved bees.

If that didn't work, Sherlock would move onto more obvious things. They made a list of possible clothing articles that wouldn't be too obvious, but obvious enough that someone ordinary like John might notice.

Socks was an obvious one. Sherlock managed to find black and yellow striped stockings in the women's section that would fit them. It took some searching, but they eventually found bee themed hair bands, hair elastics, stripey gloves and a scarf, and a child's umbrella. They even found a bee pencil eraser, which wasn't something they'd been looking for, but was something they'd found regardless.

Thus armed, Sherlock made their way back to Baker street, ready to begin their experiment the following day. As they lay in bed that night, the covers pulled up to their chin, Sherlock wondered whether they wanted the experiment to be a success or failure. Scientists always wanted their experiments to be a success, but Sherlock was afraid that if John found out, he might not want to be with them anymore.

Well, if John didn't like it in the end, Sherlock could always pretend it was just that: an experiment. Nothing more.

The next morning, Sherlock dressed carefully. They didn't wear any make-up today, because only big girls wore make-up. Getting the hair clips to stay in their curly hair was difficult by themself, but they managed in the end. Wearing the hair clips and head band and looking at their reflection in the mirror started making them feel little again, but Sherlock still needed to do their big person job. They firmly told themself that a job needed to be done, so they had to act like a grown-up for now.

It was hard to resist the pull to simply go and play with their chemistry set all day and get John to make them a cup of tea, but Sherlock kept it up as best they could.

John looked up as they came into the kitchen and smiled warmly. He came over and kissed Sherlock quickly on the cheek.

"I've got to go to work love, I'm already late," John said. He stopped, blinked, and looked closer. "Those are cute barrettes, love. Where did you get them?"

Sherlock shrugged.

John laughed. "What are you up to today while I'm gone?"

"Case," Sherlock said. "Why can't you come with me, John?"

"You know I have to work, Sherlock," John said. "I'll see you later. Should I pick up something for dinner on the way back?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said, looking at their toes.

"Okay, see you later! Behave at the crime scene," John said, and disappeared out the door.

Sherlock ran to the window to watch John's retreating back, face pressed to the window pane until he was out of sight. They were so intent on John that they didn't notice Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs.

"Coo-ee!" Mrs. Hudson said behind him. "I've got some tea for you, Sherlock, dear."

Sherlock ignored her and stood by the window, waiting, even though they knew John wouldn't return for another eight hours. Mrs. Hudson tutted in the background, setting the tea tray down on the table.

"Sherlock," she called. "Come on now and sit down, there's a good lad."

The endearment caught their attention, and they came and sat down at the table with Mrs. Hudson. She was busy buttering some scones. Sherlock added a good amount of both milk and sugar to their tea. Mrs. Hudson gave them the scones, and then peered into their teacup in surprise.

"I didn't think you took milk, Sherlock," she said.

Sherlock shrugged.

Kids liked milky tea, didn't they? Sherlock certainly did. Kids were also not allowed coffee, so it was good Mrs. Hudson had brought the tea up, or Sherlock would have been tempted to have some.

"Eat up, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson urged, and they did.

Mrs. Hudson had certainly seen their little side, although they weren't sure that she had noticed that they regressed sometimes. She always treated them the same, child or adult, so Sherlock supposed it didn't much matter.

Sherlock's mobile rang, and they answered it promptly.

"Hello?" they said cautiously.

"Is that you, Sherlock?" Lestrade said.

"Yeth," Sherlock said.

"I have a crime scene for you to look at," Lestrade said. "Are you in?"

Sherlock sighed and pulled themself together. Lestrade needed Sherlock the adult detective, not Sherlock the little, who wanted nothing more than to do a messy experiment and then take a nap. 

"I'll be there," they said.

It was no matter, they would take the time they had away from John to plan their next move. It didn't seem like John had really acknowledged the meaning behind Sherlock's barrettes this morning. As usual, he saw the evidence, but did not observe. Sherlock didn't think anyone should need so much evidence to draw a conclusion, but they would keep trying.

The crime scene turned out to be boring. Sherlock nearly threw a tantrum as they deduced the crime scene with one sweeping look around the scene.

"This is ridiculous, Lestrade," Sherlock snapped. "I could have solved this with my eyes closed!"

"Sherlock, remember what I said. My crime scene, my rules," Lestrade said. "And my rules say that you need to be polite to everyone while you're here."

"And _my_ rule is this! No boring cases!" Sherlock yelled.

"Fine," Lestrade said. "You're off cases until you can apologize for being a prat."

"Fine!" Sherlock said. "We'll see how long that lasts before you come begging for my help!"

They stomped off from the scene, very much aware that they were throwing a very childish tantrum. If only there was someone to punish them for being such a brat and to teach them proper manners. But there wasn't, because John couldn't see what was right in front of him!

Sherlock would just have to try harder.

On their way back to Baker street, Sherlock stopped at Tesco. There were a few things that they needed, and they needed it right away. First, they found a package of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and some crinkle cut frozen chips. Then, they found the biggest package of crayons possible.

If John didn't notice this, then Sherlock was really doing something wrong.

***

John got home later that night with a package of Thai takeaway from the place down the street. Sherlock ignored him as he got them a plate and put curry on it for them. They were much too busy experimenting with different kinds of ash and how it mixed with rainwater.

"Eat up, Sherlock," John said.

Sherlock poked at the curry with a fork and then shook their head with a pout.

"What's wrong with it?" John asked. "You love green curry. It's your favourite one."

"I don't wike it," Sherlock said, letting the childish lilt into their voice.

"Don't like it?" John asked. "I did ask you this morning what you wanted for dinner."

"Don't want it," Sherlock said.

"What do you want then?" John asked.

Instead of answering out loud, Sherlock went to the freezer and got out the dinosaur chicken nuggets and chips. They set it on the counter in front of John. John picked up the package and looked it over. Sherlock watched, heart pattering rapidly. Would this be when John realized?

"Fine," John said. "But if you wanted these, you should have told me before I got enough curry for two."

John got out a baking tray and counted out several dinosaur shapes onto it. He also emptied some of the chips out onto the same tray. Sherlock watched as John preheated the oven and waited for it to head up. As it heated up, John rummaged through the cupboard and found Sherlock's bee cup. He took the top off, filled it with apple juice, and put it in front of Sherlock.

"There," he said. "Drink that up, will you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock obediently picked up the bee cup and started drinking.

"What do we say, Sherlock?" John said absentmindedly as he put the baking pan into the oven.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said.

"That's right," John said. "Good lass."

When the chicken nuggets were done, John dug a plate out and transfered all of the nuggets and chips onto it. He also found a bottle of brown sauce and put them both on the table in front of Sherlock.

"Eat up," John said, and ruffled their hair.

And then he sat down with his curry and dug in, seemingly without noticing anything odd about Sherlock's request for dinosaur-shaped nuggets. Sherlock struggled with this for a moment. They asked for chicken nuggets, and received it, but they still weren't satisfied.

They ate half of the chicken nuggets, and then decided that they didn't want them anymore.

"Want curry," they grumbled.

"What's that?" John asked absentmindedly.

"Want. Curry!" Sherlock said, louder.

"The curry's in the fridge if you want some," John said, not looking up.

"WANT. CURRY." Sherlock said, knocking their cutlery onto the floor.

"Sherlock, I got you curry, and you didn't want it. I made you an entire new meal because you said you wanted it. Get your own bleeding curry!" John yelled back.

"NO!" Sherlock screamed.

Their half-finished plate of food fell on the floor and John shot to his feet, in surprise or anger, Sherlock wasn't sure. His chest heaved as he looked at the food scattered all over the floor. Sherlock quailed as John turned his angry gaze on them.

"Sherlock Holmes, you clean this mess up. _Now_ ," John said in a low, controlled voice.

Sherlock went and got the broom and dustpan out of the cupboard and began sweeping the floor. John, seeing that he was being obeyed, sat back down and finished eating his curry. Sherlock bit their lip. John still didn't know anything important. He probably still thought that their outburst was just because of Sherlock's usual antics.

Their bottom lip trembled for a moment, and they took several deep breaths. Even so, a few stray tears worked their way out from behind their eyes. They surreptitiously wiped them away with their sleeve, and John didn't notice.

They would just have to step this up a bit.

***

Sherlock had to try everything. Acting out normally wouldn't work at all, as they'd discovered. They needed to really push the boundaries. John thought their tantrums weren't anything out of the ordinary, mistaking them for big Sherlock's behaviour. They would have to _really_ make an impression. They'd have to go outside their comfort zone, and do things that would make John pay attention, and possibly even get very mad.

That was an acceptable risk.

It started the next day, when John left the flat to go to work. Defiantly, Sherlock didn't bother to get dressed in the morning, opting to wear their pyjamas and dressing gown the entire day. Not that it was outside the normal behaviour for Sherlock, but it felt more authentic than if they put on Big person clothes.

Sherlock knew that drawing on the walls was ridiculous of them. They started drawing complex chemical structures in bright purple crayon, and when that ran out, started on indigo. Sherlock had always been brilliant. Little Sherlock was no less brilliant, and once they started, it was easy to get into the spirit of drawing science.

They started off in the kitchen. They fit their drawings in around appliances and even wrote on the cupboards. They continued on into the living room, drawing a cluster of tiny skulls around the mantle and writing a violin concerto on the wall next to the window where they composed sometimes. The bathroom wasn't skipped, as Sherlock scrawled rainbows and bubbles and water molecules.

They didn't do their room. They usually slept in the same bed as John now that they were in a relationship, but Sherlock and John still technically had separate rooms. Sometimes, if he wasn't feeling sociable or wanted alone-time, John went upstairs. It was his santuary, and Sherlock contemplated desecrating it. As they finally made their way around to the stairs up to John's room, they paused. Dare they scribble something on the walls of John's room? He would be livid.

Sherlock bit their lip. Livid was an unfortunate side effect of this experiment, so Sherlock would just have to deal with angry John when it came time to that. They drew things that came to mind when they thought of John. There was the chemical structure of dopamine, seratonin, and even adrenaline. They drew the inner workings of a Sig Saur pistol and the expanse of a universe that John thought Sherlock had erased.

They were finishing up the rings on Saturn, not entirely satisfied with the shade of orange the box supplied them with when they heard it: John's door opening behind them.

They'd planned to be out of the room and hiding in their room by the time John got home. They might have gotten a little bit carried away with the drawing.

"Sherlock Holmes," John said in a low, angry voice. "Care to explain why the walls of almost every single room in the flat is now covered in crayon?"

"Felt wike it," Sherlock pouted, and went back to drawing Saturn.

"Sherlock..." John said warningly. "I've had a long day, and I just want to rest. What is all this?"

"Don't you wike it?" Sherlock asked, blinking up at John from where they were sitting cross-legged on the floor.

John sighed and pressed his hand to his forehead, apparently very exasperated. "Sherlock, I know you don't generally follow social codes, but I would have thought it was obvious even to you that drawing on the walls was not acceptable. You're acting like a child!"

John was getting on the right track.

Sherlock bit their lip again, and let it tremble a bit as their eyes welled up with fat, unhappy tears.

"Don't try that with me, I know you know I'd be angry," John said.

"You're mean!" Sherlock said loudly.

They picked up a crayon and threw it at John. It hit him in the knee and then rolled away, under the dresser that was still in John's room. It didn't hurt him, but John's brow drew down heavily at the rude gesture.

"Sherlock..." John said again in warning.

Sherlock threw several more crayons at him, lips curled up in a pout. John seemed to waver between just leaving Sherlock alone and being angry about the damage to the flat. His hands were clenching and unclenching by his sides, and Sherlock saw that a vein in John's temple had started pulsing angrily. This was getting good.

Maybe, finally, John would understand that this wasn't just Sherlock being a brat, but that they really needed John to look closer at the situation and give them the kind of attention they deserved. Sherlock picked up another crayon, and looked up at John defiantly.

"Don't – "John yelled.

Sherlock reached out and started drawing spirals on the wall in big loops. John hated being openly mocked, and would likely perceive Sherlock's actions as such. Would this be what tipped him over the edge?

John got very quiet.

Finally, John raised his head and said in a voice that was dangerous and soft, "I swear Sherlock Holmes, if you continue to act like a child, I'm going to give you a spanking like a child!"

That was exactly what they'd been hoping for.

"No!" Sherlock protested and stood up.

"Yes, in fact, I'm doing it now. Come here!" John said, face thunderous.

"No!" Sherlock said again and then backed up.

John didn't start moving forward until Sherlock got up onto John's bed and started jumping on it. A child wouldn't have made a dent in it, but Sherlock's full weight made the bed creak alarmingly. John came forward quickly. Sherlock jumped off the bed, dodged around John and ran down the stairs.

"No!" they yelled again.

John chased them down the stairs and into the living room. They threw the Union Jack pillow at John as he emerged into the room, and John batted it away. John chased them, dodging around the sofa. Sherlock ran around it, trying to keep the sofa between them.

"Sherlock, this isn't funny," John growled, trying to catch them.

"Can't catch me!" Sherlock giggled as they danced out of John's way.

John was obviously getting more angry that he couldn't catch Sherlock, but seemed to be losing motivation for chasing them. He was already tired from his day at work, and soon, he would just go down to the pub and forget about the whole thing until later. Sherlock needed to find a way to keep him interested in catching Sherlock.

The bookcase was just behind them.

It was a terrible idea, and normally, Sherlock wouldn't have ever contemplated laying violent hands on a book. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Looking John square in the eye, they reached out and pulled a book off the shelf and let it fall to the floor. John stared at them in disbelief, but then Sherlock pulled another one off and another.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, and started the chase again.

Sherlock dodged around the couch again, knocking even more things off of shelves and tables as they ran. John was going to be very angry at the end of all this. Hopefully this wouldn't all be for nothing.

John was obviously tiring beyond his ability to continue, but it also gave him a chance to think past his anger. Instead of fruitlessly chasing Sherlock around and around the same couch, John vaulted the couch and landed in front of them. Sherlock squeaked as John grabbed them by both shoulders, spun them around, and then tackled them onto the couch.

Sherlock scrabbled to escape, but John held firm, pinning them down to the couch. When Sherlock had been planning this, it had occurred to them that they might be punished, and they had decided that was an acceptable risk in order to gain the benefit of John and Sherlock coming to an understanding. But now that the moment was upon them, their heart quailed.

"Keep still," John growled in their ear. "I have had just about enough of your antics, Sherlock Holmes."

"Let me go!" Sherlock whined, squirming.

John wrestled their struggling form over his lap, and Sherlock's eyes filled with tears as they realized that their impending punishment was about to be delivered.

"You have been very bad," John said in a grim sort of voice. "And I intend give you a proper spanking for it."

"No!" Sherlock cried out, and sniffled.

"Maybe now you'll learn to be good when I'm out of the flat," John said.

Now they were in for it.


	2. A Little Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out about Sherlock's Little side, and the two of them need to make a little compromise on how to approach this new side to their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of my Johnlock giveaway fic for [labyrinthinearchaeology](http://labyrinthinearchaeology.tumblr.com/)! Hope you enjoy the rest!
> 
> Also, I hope I got the kind of relationship you wanted right! This was challenging to write!

Sherlock laid flat across John's lap, sniffling and crying as John held them down with one arm. He pulled up Sherlock's dressing gown and yanked their pyjama bottoms down around their thighs.

"You have been very bad, Sherlock," John growled. "I warned you to behave, and what do I get? A little brat drawing on my nice clean walls."

"I just wanted you to pay attention to me," Sherlock sniveled.

"You've certainly got my attention now," John said. "But you were still bad, Sherlock, and you need to be punished."

"I can cwean it up," Sherlock said, their 'l' blurring into a 'w.'

"Yes, you'll do that, too," John said. " _After_ I punish you!"

"No!" Sherlock yelled, and kicked their feet on the sofa.

John started smacking their bottom with the flat of his palm. Sherlock had expected it to hurt more, and while it _did_ sting a little, it wasn't unbearable. However, the indignity of being spanked still brought tears to their eyes. They felt a little sob working its way out of their throat and tried to keep it in check. However, it wasn't long before they started crying in earnest.

"Yes, yes, I know," John said, "it's not very fun being spanked."

John stopped spanking them, then pulled their pyjamas back up. He turned them over and gathered them up into his arms to hold them against his chest. Sherlock sniffed and buried their nose in John's shoulder, blinking tears out of their eyes. John rocked them slowly and let them cry it out. Eventually, Sherlock's sobs turned into little hiccups and petered out. John rubbed their back until their lower lip stopped trembling and they stopped crying.

"What have we learned, Sherlock?" John asked finally.

"Don't draw on the walls," Sherlock said.

"And?"

"Don't knock things on the floor," Sherlock said.

"And don't run away from John," John said sternly. "Now. Are you going to tell me what this is all about, Sherlock?"

"You weren't paying attention," Sherlock said.

"And what wasn't I paying attention to?" John asked.

"I wanted you to notice something," Sherlock said slowly, not certain if John would really get what they meant when they explained.

"Notice what?" John asked, hand rubbing the back of their neck.

"Sometimes I'm not Big, I'm Little," Sherlock said, ducking their head and hiding their eyes against John's chest.

"What does that mean, exactly?" John asked softly.

Sherlock shook their head.

"Is Big Sherlock a different person from Little Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock paused, but shook their head again.

"So Little Sherlock is a part of Big Sherlock," John said. "A part the general public doesn't get to see?"

Sherlock nodded.

"And you wanted me to see?" John said.

Sherlock nodded again, more vigorously.

"Oh, sweetheart, you didn't have to act out to get me to see," John said into their hair. "You could have just said something."

"Couldn't," Sherlock mumbled. "Had to show you."

"Show me?"

"Show you what it's like," Sherlock said. "You had to understand what you would have to deal with. This is... this is part of me, John."

"Is Little Sherlock... a child?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"How old?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Is it... sexual?" John asked.

"N-not for me, it isn't," Sherlock said, struggling to explain. "It's not like Age Play, where someone pretends to be a certain age. I'm just Little. I have certain... tendencies. I need to be looked after."

"Like a child?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said, blushing and looking down. "John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Do you..." Sherlock sniffled again. "Do you still love me?"

John's arms tightened around them, and he stroked their hair. "Of course I do, sweetheart. This doesn't change a thing. I just want to know what it is you need me to know so that I don't make a mistake."

"I need..." Sherlock said, and blushed again.

"What do you need from me?" John asked softly.

"I need a guardian," Sherlock said. "A protector. Someone to look out for me, and to tell me right and wrong."

"I already do that, you know," John said, smiling.

"Yes, well, you saw that sometimes I need discipline," Sherlock said.

"I did notice that, yes," John said. 

"Is this okay?" Sherlock blurted, turning wide, terrified eyes on John.

John smiled. "Of course it is, sweetheart. Of course it is."

***

Sherlock sighed and stared at the wall in front of them with annoyance. The crayon they had covered most of 221b in wasn't coming off as well as they'd hoped it would. They were scrubbing a section of wall in the kitchen, but it wasn't coming clean. This wouldn't do.

John hadn't asked them to clean, but they wanted to anyway. They hadn't been trying to be bad last night, it had just been necessary to get their point across. Now that their point was made, they could try and reconcile their behaviour. That meant getting all these drawings off.

Except they weren't coming off.

Sherlock huffed and scrubbed harder to no avail. They looked morosely down at the sponge soaked with hot, soapy water and pouted. This wasn't working at all. 

They got up and went to the sink, opening the cupboard to search through the cleaning supplies. There was a woeful lack of supplies that Sherlock considered good enough to work with.

Maybe if they combined some of the ingredients together...

***

Sherlock gaped in horror at the wall. A giant, mishapen hole glared back at them, and their cloth had disintegrated. Whatever they had created, it wasn't cleaning solution. Sherlock didn't even know how it had happened, because according to their chemical equations, it should't have.

John was going to kill them.

Sherlock's lip trembled. It wasn't even their fault, they'd been trying to make it better! Sherlock went back over to the chemical equations they'd sketched out, and found that they hadn't made a mistake. It had to be something else.

But there was no time to figure out what had actually gone wrong, because the door downstairs opened and closed. John was back, and he was walking up the stairs, footsteps slightly staggered with carrying up groceries.

John walked into the room and Sherlock burst into noisy tears.

"What's wrong, sweetpea?" John asked, putting the groceries down and running over.

"I tried to fix the wall and made it worse!" Sherlock sniffled.

John looked at the wall.

"Oh," John said, and surveyed the rest of the room.

There was a bucket of soap and water nearby, where Sherlock had left it once they'd decided that soap and water wasn't enough to fix the problem. There were also several different patches on the wall of places that were cleaner, because Sherlock had experimented with a few different solutions earlier. There was also a line-up of different beakers to put those solutions in.

"What did that?" John asked cautiously.

Sherlock held up the beaker with the deadly concoction in it sulkily.

"Let me guess, you made these by mixing household cleaners together," John said with a sigh. "You know that's dangerous, Sherlock. You could have quite easily made chlorine gas!"

"I checked the equations," Sherlock said, biting their lip.

John looked the equations over and nodded. "I know you don't need a second opinion, because you're a little genius, sweetheart, but these are correct. I wonder what you made."

They both checked the chemicals, and then Mrs. Hudson fluttered up and noticed the big, gaping hole in her wall.

"Sherlock, what is that?" she cried.

"It's not their fault," John said. "We don't know how, but Sherlock mixed a few chemicals together, and this is what happened. We can't figure out where they went wrong."

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson's hands fluttered about. "Oh dear. I'd quite forgotten, dear. I ran out of that cheap cleaner, and replaced it with something else. I forget what. I was going to relabel it so I didn't forget."

"And then you forgot to relabel it," John said. "Oh dear."

They all looked at the hole in the wall.

"Well, since it's jointly our fault, I don't think you should take it out of our damage deposit," Sherlock said, glancing over at John.

"I wasn't the one who covered the walls in crayon," Mrs. Hudson said. "Well. As long as you manage to get the rest of the crayon off, I'll see what I can do about the rest."

Sherlock sulked, and John went over to the bag of groceries.

"And after all that, I didn't even manage to make a cleaner that would work on crayons!" Sherlock complained.

"Sherlock," John said, shaking his head. "Catch."

Sherlock caught the package John lobbed in their direction. It was a package of sponges that promised that they would magically erase any stain with ease. Sherlock arched an eyebrow at John, but John just shrugged.

"Better get scrubbing Sherlock!"

To Sherlock's annoyance, they worked like a marvel. The only upside was that they finished cleaning the walls by the time John had finished making them both supper. It was some sort of thing with peas, which Sherlock didn't much like, but would eat if it was put in front of them.

After dinner, John went on his computer, and Sherlock turned on the television. Now that John knew about Sherlock's Little behaviour, he wouldn't mind if Sherlock put on a children's program. To their surprise, John didn't immediately come to join them on the sofa like he usually did when they were watching together, but continued looking at his laptop screen.

"Watcha lookin' at?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide.

"I'll show you tomorrow, Sherlock," John said absentmindedly as he finally came over.

Sherlock snuggled up to John's side and sighed happily. They really didn't much care about the telly, to be honest. They just wanted this, this moment, when they were safe and warm and John had his arms around them. John's hand was in their hair, spinning their curls around his fingers.

They must have fallen asleep, because the next thing they knew, they were being put in bed, and John was tucking them in. He smoothed the hair off their head and kissed their forehead.

"Goodnight, princess," John murmured and left the room.

Sherlock smiled and drifted off to sleep.

***

Sherlock grinned as they started up John's computer. It wasn't just that they were too lazy to get up and get their own computer, although that was also a fair enough assessment of the situation. Sherlock just liked figuring out how to get into John's computer. No matter how many ways John tried to keep them out, they always found a way in. And each time, John gave up a tiny bit more information about himself that Sherlock hadn't known before.

John was terrible at passwords. Like most people, it didn't take long for them to decipher what it could possibly be. People always chose such sentimental passwords, and John was no different.

They were having a little bit of trouble figuring this one out until they remembered what John had said to them the previous night. He'd called them "princess." Could it be...?

They started trying variations on "princess" and the computer finally let them in.

"Princess Bee?" they said aloud. "Really?"

Now what had John been doing last night that he had been so mysterious about? It was the work of a few minutes to manage to figure out what he'd been looking at.

John had been doing research on Littles! Sherlock looked through the same websites that John had been in last night and could hardly believe their luck. It was their dream come true to finally find someone who was willing to explore this side of Sherlock's life. John had been particularly thorough in researching what it meant to be a Daddy, as they were called in the community.

John had told them that he wanted to look after them, but Sherlock hadn't been quite sure until now. They still weren't a hundred percent sure, because John could change his mind at any point. They bit their bottom lip. That wouldn't be good at all.

They almost went into a sulk, but then found what John had looked at next: toys! Their eyes went wide as they looked through the site that John had found. It had lots of toys meant for Littles, and Sherlock's heart pitter-pattered in excitement. If John was buying them toys, then maybe he was serious after all. They looked longingly at some of the stuffed toys and sighed. Now that they knew John wouldn't mind, they wanted to fill their room with toys, but they knew they should wait for John to come back home.

John was late.

Sherlock stood by the window playing sad songs on the violin as they waited for him. They had even put some cute ribbons in their hair just for him, and he wasn't even home on time. It was almost 6 by the time they heard his feet on the stairs. Frowning mightily, they put extra effort into playing the violin as loudly as possible. It would serve John right if the neighbours complained.

"Sherlock?" John called up the stairs. "Hello?"

Sherlock ignored him and continued playing, and didn't turn around when the door opened, and the sound of John coming in and putting down bags filled the room.

"Sherlock!" John said loudly, trying to be heard over the violin. "I know, I know, I didn't text you that I was going to be late. I'm sorry."

Sherlock had sent many texts. Sherlock had sent a veritable armada worth of texts, and John hadn't answered a single one.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I know you're all dressed up nice for me. I didn't answer the texts because I thought you'd be able to tell where I'd been," John said from behind them.

That brought Sherlock up short.

"Where have you been?" they asked.

"Well, you'd see if you just turned around," John said, not unkindly.

Sherlock did, ready to start playing again if what they found behind them wasn't a sufficient explanation for John's lateness.

They stopped dead, eyes widening in delight. Very slowly, the put their violin down and walked toward John, who had his hands outstretched in front of him. In his hands, there was the biggest, roundest, most absolutely perfect stuffed bee that Sherlock had ever seen. They reached out and carefully took the bee out of John's hands. It was incredibly soft, and Sherlock hugged it to their chest and blinked at John in astonishment.

"Do you like it?" John asked softly.

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, and then went and sat down in their chair, still hugging the bee. John sat in his chair opposite and sighed.

"Sorry it took so long. I just wanted to find the right one, and it turned out the first place I went to didn't have them anymore, so I had to check the next closest one. I wanted you to have that while we talked over a few things."

Talking over things wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but Sherlock still froze. What if what they talked about made Sherlock sad? They hugged their toy tighter to their chest and waited for John to say something.

John took a deep breath. "I just want to start off by saying that it's all fine. I'm not going to do anything crazy like break up with you or move out or make you feel bad about yourself. Just so you know, that's not what this conversation is about at all."

Sherlock took a deep breath too and nodded. They weren't going to say it now, but it was something that had been subconsciously worrying them ever since they'd told John about being Little. 

"I just want us both to be on the same page, Sherlock," John said. "I don't want us to get into a misunderstanding down the road because we didn't talk about it now."

"What is there to talk about?" Sherlock asked, resting their nose against the bee.

"Rules. Boundaries. I know you don't generally have much respect for boundaries, but this is one time when we shoud definitely make sure they're there. I could hurt you by accident if we don't make sure we both know what's going on."

Sherlock's lip jutted out and they sighed. Boundaries were boring, but John knew best about relationships, after all. If he said boundaries were necessary, they probably were.

"Yes, John," Sherlock said.

"I wanted to ask one thing," John said, looking awkward. "The site I was reading last night was talking about Daddies. Do you want to call me that? Daddy?"

"No, you're John," Sherlock said. To them, John was the authority on all things that didn't have to do with deduction. "Maybe 'Sir' if I've been naughty."

"I see," John said, with a smile. "Good. That's good. So, what do you want my role to be?"

"I said that you should be like a guardian," Sherlock said. "A role model." They looked down shyly. "I already saw these attributes in you, John. That's why I wanted you to fill that role. You already take care of me, make sure I eat, try to keep me from being bored, and show me how to interact with normal, annoying people."

"So, just keep doing what I've been doing," John said.

"Yes, except more," Sherlock said. "You just need to know that you can help me, and discipline me as if I were a child. My brain... works better that way, if I know someone is looking out for me that way. And if there's someone..."

Sherlock felt their face turning red.

"Yes?" John asked gently.

"I like it when you tell me I'm brilliant," Sherlock said, very quietly.

John leaned forward, and now that Sherlock could tell that he was listening, continued. 

"I know I'm brilliant," Sherlock said. "But it's nice when someone else tells me that they've noticed that I am. Praise is... good."

"I already praise you to high heaven," John said with a slight, self-deprecating chuckle.

"Yeah," Sherlock replied, toying with the fuzzy antenna on the stuffed bee. "But you should know that it affects me, more than I let on, and that it makes me... happy."

John talked a lot. Sherlock wasn't really one to make boundaries, but they put up with it, because in the end, they would get John. Sherlock assured John that they wouldn't act out during crime scenes, and that they could act Big if they wanted to. They started to regress to their childlike state sometimes, but not always.

"How will I know if you're feeling Little?" John asked.

"Well, I can tell you..." Sherlock said. "Or, I can wear my bee hairbow." Then, they got an idea and sat up straight. "I can even wear my bow one one side if I feel female, or the right side if I feel male."

The way their genderfluidity intersected with being Little was complicated and interesting. Sherlock liked the idea of John being able to know when he could call them "princess" and when "darling boy" was better.

"Okay," John said. "We've talked a lot, you know. And I haven't made dinner. Want to go out for a bite to eat?"

"Yeah!" Sherlock said enthusiastically. 

"Where would you like to go?" John asked, getting his coat on.

"I want chips," Sherlock said. "Pwease?"

"Yeah, okay," John said. "There's a chippy not far from here. Let's go."

"Can I hold your hand?" Sherlock asked, giving John an appealing look.

John grinned, "You know how to do that puppy-dog eye thing well, I'll give you that, sweetheart. Of course you can hold my hand if you'd like."

Sherlock happily took John's hand and followed him out the door.

***

It wasn't that Sherlock wasn't sorry. It was the principle of the matter, and that was that Lestrade was wrong, and Sherlock had warned him that if he called Sherlock out for an easy case, then Sherlock wouldn't come out for the next one. 

Their phone beeped for the fourteenth time, and they looked at the screen, bored and annoyed. Great, Lestrade had even started getting his underlings involved in the dispute. Donovan was now texting them as well. As if that would make Sherlock more likely to listen.

Lestrade texted again, and Sherlock threw their phone across the room, where it bounced off the sofa and onto the floor. 

Feet on the stairs indicated John was finally home from the clinic, which was just as well with Sherlock, because without a case and without an experiment to do, Sherlock was beginning to get into a dangerous level of boredom. The kind of boredom when they started lighting socks on fire. Not Sherlock's socks, of course. Those were all made of high quality material.

"Bored!" they said loudly as soon as John was in the door.

"I've been getting texts from Lestrade saying that you're refusing a case," John said, taking his shoes off at the door and searching around for his slippers.

"Yes, well, I did say that the last one was boring. And I warned Lestrade that if he ever called me out to a case less than a 5, I wouldn't come to the next one."

"Well, what if the case he has is better than a 5?" John asked.

"It's a 7 at most, and that's not nearly enough to make up for being called out for a 5," Sherlock said.

They waited for John to notice that they were wearing their bee bow, ready to go into a bit of a tantrum if John failed to see it. They hadn't had to throw one yet, and Sherlock was a bit interested to see what would happen if they did. Sherlock still remembered the incident with the crayons and how they had gotten a spanking for their bad behaviour. At that time, Sherlock hadn't been fully sure that John wouldn't react badly to their Little side, but know that they both knew, it could be interesting.

They knew it was bad to plot against John and throw a tantrum, but that didn't stop them from contemplating it.

They hadn't really discussed what would happen if Sherlock acted out. Sherlock should wait for them to have that discussion before anything happened, but waiting had never been one of their strongest qualities.

"You really should give Lestrade a break," John said. "He has a rough job, and it would probably help if you showed a little appreciation once in a while for letting you work on cases."

"He _needs_ me," Sherlock said huffily. "It should be him showing _me_ appreciation."

"Well, love, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose," John said with a sigh. "Did you want to help me make dinner?"

Sometimes Sherlock liked helping John, because John would give them instructions in his kind, patient, John-like way. Sherlock didn't need instructions, they just liked it when John gave them something to follow.

"No," Sherlock said and pouted.

"No thank you, John," John said, correcting them.

"Don't wanna," Sherlock said, crossing their arms and sinking low in their chair.

"Could you at least clear off the table and set it?" John asked as he entered the kitchen to look for something to make for dinner. "Maybe do some dishes?"

"No," Sherlock repeated. "Wanna watch telly."

John looked up and his eyes widened slightly as he saw the bow on the side of their head.

"Sherlock," he said warningly. "What did I say about watching the telly?"

"Chores first," Sherlock said.

"Yes, chores first. So why don't you wash what's in the sink and clear the table for me like a good lad?" John asked.

"Telly," Sherlock said, lower lip jutting out.

"I'm going to count to three," John said, "And if you're not doing dishes, then you'll be in trouble, young man."

Sherlock stuck out their tongue at him.

"One..."

Sherlock didn't move.

"Two..."

Sherlock glared across at John and wrinkled their nose at him.

"Three!" John said, then put his hands on his hips. "Sherlock! Get up right now and do as I say!"

"No!" Sherlock yelled back.

John had noticed the bow, and Sherlock knew they weren't playing fair, but this was just so interesting. They wanted to see what John would do. He might even spank them again. Probably not, because Sherlock had been _very_ bad the last time. Sherlock waited to see what John would do.

"If you don't do your chores, then I'm not going to let you watch the telly," John said warningly.

"No!" Sherlock said.

"This is your last chance, Sherlock Holmes, and then you're grounded!" John said, leaning forward and looking them right in the eye.

John held their stare for several long seconds. Sherlock bit their lip, staring back challengingly, waiting to see what would happen.

"Right, no telly for you!" John said. 

Sherlock got up, found the remote, and turned the television on in defiance. However, what met their eyes was a screen with a password screen.

"That's right, it's a child-lock," John said. "I had Mrs. Hudson install it for me while you were out."

Sherlock tried out several number combinations, but none of them worked. They looked back at John with a frown of frustration.

"It's completely random numbers, and I can change it anytime I want," John said. "I learned from the Irene Adler case – don't use sentimental numbers when choosing a password. You won't guess it."

Sherlock huffed and went back to trying. John's date of birth didn't work, and neither did Sherlock's or Mrs. Hudson's. Sherlock tried everything they could think of. John simply hummed in satisfaction and went back to making them both dinner. Nothing worked, and Sherlock even went to tinker with the television itself. 

"There is a way to get in, you know," John said in a sing-song voice.

Sherlock looked at him.

"Do the dishes," John said.

Sherlock tried fruitlessly for another five minutes, then their shoulders slumped. John had really put some thought into this. They briefly contemplated throwing an even bigger tantrum, but John must have caught the look in their eyes, because he shook his head and tutted.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't even think of it, young man," John said. "I've also child-locked the internet password."

Sherlock's eyes widened in horror as they watched John calmly making grilled cheese sandwiches. The telly they could live without, and it was just a matter of principle. The internet was vital.

In utter defeat, they came into the kitchen and started filling the sink with hot water.

"There's a good lad," John said. "I knew you could make the right decision."

Sherlock blushed. Somehow, even though John had just outwitted them, they still felt as if John was paying them a real and sincere compliment. He wasn't gloating over his victory. He sounded as if Sherlock had actually done a really good job and learned something.

The dishes didn't even take that long to finish, and John nodded approvingly at them. Sherlock went over and cleared the table and set them both a place.

"That's my good lad," John praised, smiling. "Now eat up, and then we can watch together."

When John put their plate down in front of them, he also gave them their bee cup full of juice. They smiled and picked it up, because it was their favourite cup. 

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said.

"Your welcome, Sherlock," John said gently.

They watched television later, and John went on his laptop. Once the program that Sherlock was watching finished, he called them over. Sherlock clambered into his lap, curling up around him on the couch. John showed them what was on the screen, and their eyes went wide.

John was on a website with Little toys, the same one they'd seen when they'd stolen John's laptop before. 

"We are going to order some toys together, tonight," John said. "But before I do, you have to show me what a good boy you are and apologize to Lestrade."

Sherlock looked at the toys.

"Do I get to choose the ones I want?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," John said. "We'll get as many as you like."

Sherlock briefly considered ordering one of everything, because John hadn't put a limit on it. But that wasn't being good, that was being a brat on purpose.

"How much do I have to apologize?" they asked.

"That's up to you," John said. "But I'll be proud of you if you do a good job."

Sherlock thought about this proposal for a while. Finally, they nodded and picked up their phone, found Lestrade's number and dialed. They didn't have to wait long for Lestrade to answer, and he sounded tired and unenthusiastic.

"What is it, Sherlock?" he said, obviously recognizing Sherlock's number.

"I want to apologize," Sherlock said. "I was unhelpful earlier, and I could have solved the case."

"What, are my ears deceiving me?" Lestrade asked. "Is the great Sherlock Holmes actually deigning to apologize? Does this have to do with John?"

"It has to do with me wanting to apologize," Sherlock said.

"Right, find, apology accepted, I guess," Lestrade said. "Although thanks to your non-helpfulness, I stepped in cat poo in my good shoes."

"Wait," Sherlock said sharply. "Did you say 'cat?'"

"Yes, all over my new shoes," Lestrade said, sounding aggravated. "Just drop it, will you?"

"You didn't tell me they had a _cat_!" Sherlock snapped. "This changes everything! Is there still a team at the crime scene?"

"Sherlock it's eight o'clock... you know what, never mind. I can meet you there."

"Excellent," Sherlock said.

Lestrade gave them the address, and Sherlock looked over at John triumphantly.

"That case just went from a 5 to an 8," they said, grinning. "Come on, John, we can look at the toys later. Right now there's a case to solve!"

"Right," John said, getting up. "Back to business. Er... Sherlock? You've still got a bow in your hair."

Sherlock waved them off. "Never mind trivial things like that, John, time is of the essence!"

As the two of them dashed down the stairs, Sherlock put a hand up to where the bee bow was still in their hair. They might not always get to indulge their Little side, and maybe people at the crime scene would notice the bow and make fun of them. But now that John knew about Sherlock's Little side, they could start integrating their two lives together. 

They just had to take one little step at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for my Johnlock fanfiction giveaway because The Effect of Memory reached 10k hits!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://testosterone-tea.tumblr.com/)


End file.
